Drabbles
by theslyknave
Summary: Snarry drabbles, created with a word generator and some imagination. Get 'em by the hundreds. SS/HP slash. Open to requests.
1. Cheek 1

_Author's Note: _I have decided to start a Drabbles fic. This one is exactly 100 words, but the next few will be longer. I fail at writing short bits- this one required LOTS of editing before it hit 100.

I haven't decided on whether I want them all to flow together, or be random and unrelated. I'm using a random word generator, so I have no say over what the chapter will be about. This one is pretty neutral- you could take it as preslash. If it's going to go in chronological order in the same universe, this is the starting point. If it's going to be unrelated, then this is just another random drabble.

Thoughts on the matter?

(What's hilarious is this author's note is longer than the actual chapter.)

_Disclaimer: _I am not J. K. Rowling. I'm posting on fanfiction. My writing sucks. All evidence that I don't own Harry Potter.

**Cheek**

Harry sat in an alcove along the sixth floor, cradled between the wide sill, the wall, and the window. He gazed across the spacious grounds, thinking. A few young students were enjoying the late summer day, running and laughing and screaming.

Footsteps sounded, bringing the clacking of soles against stone floor.

Harry curled up tighter inside his secluded spot. Someone shrouded in black rounded the corner- black hair, black robes, black eyes - Harry held his breath. A bit of the fabric from the black cloak brushed his cheek.

Harry closed his eyes.

The footsteps faded, billowing black cloak trailing after.


	2. Insisting 2

_Author's Note: _Alright, I lied. This one is 100 words, too. But the next couple have more words, I promise!

Also, and this is **VERY IMPORTANT!** **LOOK HERE! MIRAN AQUI! ****SCHAUEN SIE HIER! REGARDEZ ICI! ****ここを見て****! ****看 这 儿！ **(If I missed your language or conjugated/spelled wrong, or had horrible grammar, I apologize. Everything except english and spanish was taken from Google Translate... ^^;)

As I said in the author's note of my last chapter, I need to know how you guys would like this to be done.

Either it will work as a fic separated into drabble length, or it will be random, where I can jump around into different universes and time frames. For more detail, please see the author's note in chapter one. If you guys could tell me in a review what you would like, or vote on the poll on my profile, I'd REALLY appreciate it. Thank you.

**Insisting**

"Harry, you've been out of it even more than usual."

The dark haired boy tore his eyes away from the head table, focusing absentmidedly on Hermione. "Mmm?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm talking about!" She exclaimed, pointing at him dramatically. "It's like your mind is constantly somewhere else. Please, _please_ just tell me what's going on!" She said, insisting for the upteenth time that he tell her what was up, lately.

She was right. His mind _was_ somewhere else. Permenantly stuck in the dungeons, entertaining fantasies of the man he'd been staring at just now.


	3. Sunrise 3

_Author's Note:_ I wanted to thank the few of you who commented with your opinions about what format this story would follow. I got mixed responses, but I finally decided on a compromise. Because I want to be able to change directions and worlds with different chapters, the drabbles will be random. However, there will be short stories every once in a while, separated into drabble length. These will be made apparent by the numbers next to the chapter title in the scroll-list of chapters.

I hope this isn't too inconvenient for anyone.

Also, I wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and alerted. You guys keep me going!

This is a longer chapter- 300 words. I promised, did I not?

**Sunrise**

A few of the sun's golden fingers touched the land, setting fire to the leaves of the trees and the rolling grass of the grounds. The skies morphed; dark to blue to orange to yellow, pink, and purple. A myraid of color, swirling about the whisps of clouds.

The castle was asleep, breathing gently with the breaths of hundreds, of sleep so soft and sure that it was a magic all it's own.

One being broke the hush of the morning.

The snapping of the heavy folds of a dark, billowing cloak announced his consciousness. He walked briskly, never one for dallying. He didn't _really_ need to be running his rounds, seeing as it was a weekend and students would not be awake for a while yet.

No one ever knew what he was thinking. No one had ever wanted to, or tried to know. But he had an expression on his face that showed he was thinking about something. Something important.

He turned a corner, one with an entire wall made of window. The sunrise shown through the glass, illuminating and, perhaps, magnifying the reddish light. It poured in, filling up the corridor, and creating a backdrop so bright that all that could be seen of the man was his dark silhouette, hair and robes trailing behind him, suspended in the warm color-

Harry gasped and sat up, ramrod straight. He covered his mouth and looked over at his dorm-mates, praying he hadn't woken them. Ron snored on, Dean mumbled and turned over, Seamus breathed loudly, and Neville was silent, as always. He looked over at the same sunrise as in his dream. He couldn't stop thinking about him. He thought again of his dark figure against the rising sun.

His heart hurt.


	4. Eye 4

_Author's Note:_ I know where I'm going with this mini-story of Drabbles! Be excited, people. There's about to be... *dramatic pause* PLOT.

Yes, I know. You're probably thinking- 'Plot? What is this term of which you speak?' It is a magical turn of events that means the author has figured out what is going on! Amazing, right? I expect this mini-story to be over in two to three more drabbles. And then we can get on with the randomness.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, as always. They make me happy. :)

200 words this time, but together, the next few drabbles should be longer.

**Eye**

Potion fumes clouded the room, almost tangible in it's thickness. Purple smoke billowed from a few cauldrons, rising and clinging to the ceiling, making the room hazy. Edges blurred, things right in front of you faded, so that the classroom had the quality of a foggy dream.

Harry stirred determinedly. He would _not_ botch another potion. He didn't want to seem worthless. But lately, it had been getting much more difficult to concentrate.

The hair on the back of his neck rose, taught, like bow-strings. He looked up and, through the purple tinted air, met sharp, black eyes, betraying the smoggy quality of the room. They bored into him with an unreadable expression, and then looked away to go chastize Neville, whose potion was an ugly puce.

It was over in seconds.

It had _felt_ like an eternity.

Harry let out a shaky breath. For the rest of the hour, his mind was filled with black eyes.

Needless to say, his potion was ruined when he placed the flask of electric-blue potion on the dark-wooded desk. He left quickly, face pink and deliberately _not_ meeting the black eyes that followed him out of the room.


	5. Sharp 5

_Author's Note:_ Hey, look at this! Some action! No more mopey little brooding Harry. Surprised? I was. I have no idea how this even came to me.

Maybe I'll wait a bit longer between this update and the next, to build up suspense... *evil smirk* No... I'm not _that_ evil... _all_ the time. xD

I hope everyone likes this one! Thanks all for reviewing and alerting, I love you all! (Except for you, ... xD Just kidding! I love you most of all!)

200 words again. It seems like more, though... can you believe it was almost a mere 100? But, at 110, I couldn't remove ten words, they were necessary. So I added ninety more. Be thankful that I'm being strict with my rule of going by hundreds.

Alrighty, on to the chapter with... PLOT! *dramatic music*

**Sharp**

"Harry... _Harry_, wake up!"

Heart beating frantically, panting as if he couldn't get air in and out of his lungs fast enough, he opened wide, terrified eyes to fix on a orange blur. Ron.

"Harry, you were calling out and yelling-"

"Thrashing around," Seamus agreed, his face white.

_Dark hair spilling on rough stone-_

_Body jerking, writhing in pain-_

_The flash of a sharp silver dagger, mingling with sticky, hot red-_

Severus.

"Was it another... _you-know-what_?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded jerkily, already moving, throwing the covers back and running with all he had. It wasn't another Sirius. Even if it was, Harry would gladly risk it.

But no. This was real. He could feel it in the way that his stomach wanted to offer up what little he had of dinner nine hours ago, and the way his palms sweat and shook too much to be of use.

"Harry, where are you going? What's happened?"

There was no time to answer. No time for anything except grabbing his wand, accio-ing his glasses, and transfiguring his night-clothes into robes. He needed more time. Severus - he choked - Severus was in danger.

He'd been discovered.


	6. Motive 6

_Author's Note:_ 900 words. Holy Hell. I'm sure that there is a point where writing becomes too long to be considered a Drabble anymore, isn't there?

First of all, I'd like to apologise. I know I joked that I'd keep you waiting to build suspense with that cliffhanger, but I never meant to delay this chapter for _that long._ And for that, I am sorry. This would have been up a week and a half ago if not for 'Type Error 2', the bane of my existance. Luckily, Chi Kyoku was kind enough to share how to get passed the error.

Second of all, I want to thank all of you for being so incredibly amazing! You guys rock the awesome. But not the boat. 'Cause you can't tip that over. [/cheesy joke... .] Anyways, thanks for all the reviews, story alerts, author alerts, favoriting- you guys are the best.

Which is why I am offering you this, as both an apology and a thanks! 900 words! This almost stopped at 600, if you can believe that, but I just couldn't stop writing.

And finally, one in Sevvie's point of view! Yay~! I promise when I start doing randoms, there will be more of Sev's POV. Because it's just too fun to write in. I'm sorry if he seems a bit OOC, but he _did_ just get attacked, and thrown off his guard multiple times. He's going to seem a bit destracted. Apologies.

Anyways, I'll stop stalling now and let you get on to it, eh?

**Motive**

It was either very late, or very early. Either way, the sky was dark. The only light came from a dull glow from under Madame Pomfrey's door.

The hospital wing was quiet - hushed. There were only two occupants.

One, a sixteen year-old wizard, napping lightly.

The other, a thirty-seven year-old wizard, covered in bandages and blinking blearily out of a deep healing sleep.

Awaking to the stale taste of sleep in one's mouth is not pleasent. Adding to that the aftertaste of multiple potions did not make the taste much better. It, if you can imagine, made the older wizard grimace, even while he knew they were necessary.

He had brewed them all, and recognized each by picking them out by taste; Blood Replenishing, Dreamless Sleep, Skele-Gro, Stitching Solution, Bruise Remover, Scar Reducer, and a few general healing potions that made the effects of all the other potions - and the body's natural healing process - speed up considerably.

Upon waking out of a healing sleep, one's mind is not as sharp as one would like it to be. Even if this person is the notorious Potions Master.

He thought back, wondering how in the seven hells he had gotten here-

_The flash of a dagger-_

_Bellatrix's insane laughter-_

_The Dark Lord's hiss: "There isss a traitor in our midssst..."-_

Why wasn't he dead? He had certainly _felt_ the cold metal as it sliced through his skin, fell to the cold stone floor, heard the cold, mocking laughter. He had felt the knife tracing patterns in his skin, etching and cutting and _torturing_.

_What a barbaric, muggle way of killing someone,_ he had thought. _Why not just say the words and shoot the green spell and end it, for God's sake?_

Instant death was too good for him, apparently.

But he had been sure that death was on his way, arms outstretched, ready to drag him down.

So what happened?

Finally, he came to his full senses, and noticed a warm pressure on his hand. It was bandaged - what had happened to it again? Ah, yes, someone had stepped on it; he could still feel the crunch of bone - but wrapped with more than gauze. A smaller, calloused hand kept warm fingers wrapped around the appendage. Severus very carefully turned his head to the right, to follow the arm up into a shoulder, then across the shoulder to a tan neck, and up the neck into a familiar face, touched ever so lightly by the light from under Pomfrey's door.

Harry Potter.

Yes, that was right. He had come to the rescue, like the foolish Gryffindor he was. He could still remember the flash of panic he had felt, even through his pain, when he saw the brash fool come charging in. Didn't the idiotic brat know he could be killed? Didn't he know his life was too much to risk for Severus' sake?

_Go back, go back,_ he had thought desperately, before his senses were taken over by more pain and a roar of outrage from the wench carving him. _Run!_

But no. He had charged in, incapacitated Voldemort and Bellatrix at virtually the same time, and then there were loud '_pop_'s as the Order and the Aurors apparated in, taking out the other Death Eaters before they could blink.

Where had _that_ come from?

"Sev'rus..." Potter murmured in his sleep, and Severus held his breath. He had noticed the changes in Potter throughout the year; how he seemed more prone to daydreaming, how his marks were even more horrible than usual, how even his oblivious friends had noticed something odd.

He tried and failed to come up with a reason why Harry Potter would be saying his first name in his sleep.

The boy stretched, and his eyes fluttered open - looking straight into Severus' own.

Potter froze, and - was that a _blush_? - looked down to where he gripped Severus' hand. He snatched it away, and Severus mourned it's warmth.

Wait, what?

"Uhm, Professor, you're awake. That's good, I mean, you probably should be sleeping still because you need to heal, I mean it's good you weren't in a coma or anything..." The boy laughed nervously. God, but could he _ramble_ when he was nervous! What had happened to the Potter with steely determination and fire burning in his eyes as he stormed into a Death Eater base, taking out the most powerful and evil wizard in history, and the most insane and annoying _wench_ in history at the same time?

Severus unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "You saved me," he stated.

Harry flushed redder than before. "I... well, not really, I mean, the Order was there too-"

"Shut. Up." Severus didn't need a nervously rambling Potter on his hands. "Yes, you did, as much as it pains me to admit it. A vision?"

Potter nodded, slightly guiltily. It wasn't just his fault that the Occlumency lessons were cancelled, though.

Of course, Severus was secretly glad they had been. Otherwise, he wouldn't be there.

"You saved me," Severus repeated. "But why? What could your motive possibly be? Why save your horrible, greasy Potions Professor who hates you?"

Harry smiled sadly, his eyes conveying too much for Severus' comfort.

"Because I love you."

_Author's Note: _GASP. How will Sevvie respond? Does he return those feelings? Will Harry be reduced to a rambling mess once more? Who knows? Certainly not me.

So, should it end here? Or should I gather the remnants of my muse and piece together a final chapter with *love* and *fluff* and frilly pink bunnies and rainbows and cute little puppy dogs that can fit into cheap pink plastic purses and be paraded all over Beverly Hills? You decide!

Just one more note: Nervous&Rambling!Harry FTW! xD


	7. Breakdown 7

_Author's Note: _Yeah. So... This.

I know, I know. I deserve everything you want to throw at me. It's been almost three and a half months. And I left you hanging at the chapter before the last. I'm so sorry, and I pray it'll never happen again.

I do have an explanation though: my computer broke down. Multiple times. Actually, it's _still_ dead. I'm using the dinosaur in my basement. Bluh.

So anyways, yes, this _is_ the last chapter. Of this mini-fic. Expect more frequent updates on random topics (that is, until I get another mini-fic idea).

I want to thank everyone for sticking with me, and for clicking on this as it popped up in your inboxes instead of discarding it considering the length of time.

_Disclaimer:_ Would J. K. ever keep her fans waiting this long for an update on something as simple as a 600 word drabble? I rest my case.

**Breakdown**

It had been _days_.

After Severus had sat there, dumbfounded at Harry's admission for over a minute, Harry quickly rushed to add, 'I mean, you don't have to as well, I just... I had to... I'll talk to you later', and the boy had rushed out of the Hospital Wing.

Later, Severus would berate himself for waiting so long before saying _something_, anything at all. Anything to keep the boy there with him.

He loved him back.

It had started a while previous, so subtle that he couldn't tell you when he stopped protecting the boy for Lily's sake, and started protecting him for his own. When he stopped seeing a James with Lily's eyes, but saw _Harry_, who was so much his own person and different from his late parents that he couldn't believe he'd ever felt that way.

It was only of late that he'd truly noticed his budding attraction - eyes lingering just a bit longer during classes, pondering his emotions during his morning rounds - and even more recently that he'd noticed his feelings may just be reciprocated.

Of course, the not-so-subtle looks could have meant anything. And when he did delude himself into leaning towards attraction, he stopped there. He never bothered to consider Harry loving him.

But he could hope.

So when Harry confessed... it was too much. He'd perfected his emotionless mask well enough to hide his awed and shocked silence, and convinced the boy it was a disgusted one.

Best of all, Poppy wouldn't even allow his leave from the wing until he had fully healed. It was _infuriating_.

He wanted to tell Harry the truth. He wanted to love him...

But he couldn't. He was Severus Snape. He just didn't _do_ such things. In fact, upon discovering said attraction, Severus had checked himself for spells or love potions. He couldn't love anyone. Especially not Harry Potter.

Yet he did.

So when Poppy finally declared him fit to leave, he did so immediately, trying not to openly look for Harry. His eyes darted around, but it was because he was being himself, suspicious of everyone, especially after his near-death experience. He may have looked for a flash of Gryffindor colors, but he was constantly on the lookout for misbehavior courtesy of the brash cretins. He could have been glancing around for messy black hair and bright green eyes behind circular glasses, but that was only because he was used to making sure the idiot didn't get himself killed.

Of course.

_Surely_.

And then, for all his 'not looking', who would've thought he'd literally bump into him in a deserted corridor, east on the third floor?

Both were sent sprawling, taken aback by surprise and falling in the moment of imbalance.

"I'm so sorry, I-" Harry cut himself off, eyes widening as he realized who exactly he had hit from around that corner. "Se-Snape!" he gasped, changing the word halfway through. "I didn't mean... I-" He trailed off, going silent at the carefully neutral look on the other's face. He was holding himself back from showing any emotion.

What followed was an impromptu and intense staring match.

Severus' gaze was searching. Harry immediately realized what he was doing, and let everything pour into his eyes. Everything he felt. All that he dreamed.

And then there was a breakdown.

A breakdown of all Severus' shields that hid him from the world, from harm, from the pain and the hurt. They fell and suddenly it was only the two of them.

Snape's eyes softened, and Harry smiled.

He had let the boy in.

_Author's Note: _And that's that! I hope you enjoyed this mini-fic; I certainly did, when I wasn't off procrastinating. I almost added extra, but I figured this was really all it needed. Anything else would've been PPP (pretentious purple prose) and I thought this way was better.

That said, **if you have a word or a plot idea you'd like me to put a drabble to, **_**please**_**, be my guest! **I would be thrilled to write it for you, not to mention it'll keep me on track with the updates if I'm writing for someone. ;)

Thank you all for reading thus far, and I'll see you next time! (Not literally, of course, but you know what I mean.)


	8. Sample

_Author's Note: _My first request, for my close friend, **My. ShadowLove**. She wanted a short marriage fic, and I was happy to oblidge. I hope it's clear that this _is_ a marriage drabble... I implied it as much as I could without outright saying it - but of course I did up here, so that kind of defeats the purpose, no? Ahh well.

I hope you enjoy this 100-word little thing, and I look forward to more requests in the near future. ^-^

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter. Or Severus, for that matter. But I do own this cool glowing orb thingy.

**Sample**

There were no regrets or hesitations.

No wondering at the last minute if they wanted this, or how it affected their lives, or even what their friends thought behind their tight congratulatory smiles.

They clasped hands over a small, milky, pulsating orb; they could feel it.

They felt the magic swirling around them, the connection forged between heart, mind, and soul.

They felt the whispered words they'd said, flitting around them like a playful breeze and toying with hair and traditional robes.

They felt each other's love.

And they knew it was but a sample of what was to come.

_Author's Note:_ I'm taking artistic license on this one. I know the glowing orb isn't in the books with Bill and Fleur's marriage, but who's to say it's not a different process with homosexual marriage? *shrug* I dunno, I just thought it was cool.


	9. Cut

_Author's Note: _All the requests, all of them! Every time I have gotten a request (this is a whopping _two times here, people_) I have started typing up a drabble immediately. The past week I have been on vacation, yes, but as soon as I got back to see **My. ShadowLove**'s request, BAM, there was the idea in my head. I started writing it without a randomly generated word, can you believe that? (Yes, I will still use a random word from an online generator, even with requests. It's fun. You should try it.)

Yes, but this drabble just wouldn't stop. I thought it would be finished three hundred words before the length it is now, which is 800. You sure know how to pick 'em, **My. ShadowLove**. That said, though, don't leave her alone as the only one to give requests! I'll accept any and all.

Also, I can apparently write poetry. When did this happen? (It's written in ABCB pattern, if anyone wanted to know. I imagine a hint of iambic pantameter, but it's not always consistent. xD) I'm very proud of this one - hope you like it!

_Disclaimer: _I just realized that there were no disclaimers on chapters two through six. Am I the only one to realize this? I hope the disclaimer police don't hunt me down! *cowers* Anywho, don't own, don't make tons of money. Good enough?

**Cut**

It all started with a red rose.

Harry's brows had furrowed questioningly upon seeing it tucked so innocently in the sheets of his bed, the full red bloom of petals resting on the pillow as though it were the flower's head.

Ron and Seamus had snickered at him, and made jokes that it must be some secret admirer trying to court him. Harry had flushed and snapped something scathing; but yet later when there was no one around to watch, he took the utmost care in placing it in a conjured vase.

The next day there was another; the third day, a third. They, too, joined the rose in the vase.

Often, Harry would lie awake at night, wondering who could be sending the roses. They were all beautiful; pruned neatly and thorns snipped, at the very ripeness of their velvet red color. The green of their stems were nothing less than vibrant.

Twelve days and twelve roses passed, and on the thirteenth day Harry was just thinking he'd need to get a bigger vase to hold them all as he pushed open the door to his dorm, already in anticipation of the next rose that would be lying on his bed-

And his eyes fell on what was most definitely _not_ the usual red rose.

It was completely blackened, but the stem green, so it must not have been dead. With careful hands he lifted the black rose to find that long, sharp thorns snagged at his sheets, the tips of the scary-looking spikes glinting silver.

Harry glanced from the perfect roses back to the one he held in his hands. And amazingly...

In his eyes, it was the most beautiful of the bunch.

He stroked the top, fingers gliding over black velveteen petals. However, his ring finger bumped against something that was not a petal. He gently took it from the rose's hold to find that it was a tightly folded bit of parchment.

His heart picking up, he unfurled the paper to read the words inked in a spindly hand:

_I may not be perfect _

_Like the others come before;_

_I may not be as beautiful_

_As those which are of more._

_My heart has long been painted black_

_My thorns, they grow unbidden;_

_My tongue may lash with cutting barbs_

_And keep true thoughts well hidden._

_As only beauty may be close_

_I must admire my love from afar;_

_If we were to measure your brightness to mine_

_I'd fall, quite flat, of sub-par._

_Yet should you like this blackened soul_

_I've held myself back far too long;_

_I need to be with you at last_

_I no longer see why this is wrong._

_Everything started with one simple rose_

_Tomorrow it ends with two;_

_Stemming as one in a loving embrace_

_My black rose and you._

His breath caught, and he reread the poem, over and over, stumbling blindly to bed when his friends came in, never once releasing the paper. He slept with the parchment and the black rose clutched to his chest, unafraid of getting cut.

He woke up to find the black rose missing, but the parchment still clutched in his fist. He looked around wildly for it, pressing his friends angrily, thinking they might have taken it as a prank. None of them had.

He spent the rest of the day trudging through his classes, barely getting anything done, upset and tired as he was. He knew he was worrying his friends and teachers (he had even seen something in _Snape's_ eyes!) but he didn't care.

Someone had taken the _real_ perfect rose.

He tried not to get his hopes up as he walked into the dorm after classes, but couldn't help the habitual glance to the covers of his bed and where they met the pillow.

There was the black rose, thorns and all; but it wasn't alone. It was wrapped around a slightly smaller and very delicate pure white rose, this one without thorns entirely - not even evidence of them being snipped off.

Reverently, he pulled back the covers to find that the two roses came from a single stem, fingers accidentally brushing it-

There was a whirl of color and a jerk behind his navel and Harry landed on the stone floors of the potions classroom, standing just in front of the large, dark-wooded desk at the front of the room. He laid his eyes on the only other occupant in the room, and suddenly, everything made sense and it all felt so _right_; he couldn't keep the soft smile from his face as he recited, holding the roses before him:

_"Everything started with one simple rose_

_Today it begins again with two;_

_Stemming as one in a loving embrace_

_My white rose and you."_


	10. Wash

_Author's Note:_ So, uh. I'm not dead. Yay? My excuse this time is countless computer troubles. But enough of that. You're here for the slash.

Once again, a thank-you to **My. ShadowLove** for the request of 'greasy hair', and a thank-you to the word generator, for being so helpful in supplying the perfect word to fit the idea that had already budded in my head. I'm always accepting requests, so go right ahead, talk to me! I don't bite (hard).

_Disclaimer:_ Nothing to see here. Just a person who doesn't own the Harry Potter books writing 400-word drabbles about two of the characters. Move along.

**Wash**

"Come on, love. You've been working on that for hours. I'm sure you could put a stabilizing spell over it?" Harry gently tugged on the clearly exhausted man's arm, waiting for him to assess the potion's progress before nodding and laying the spell over it to keep the potion at its current state. The younger man had seen him about to nod off over his cauldron, and had quickly intervened. He had quickly learned that Severus would work for days without pause when close to a discovery, if Harry didn't stop him.

It was now nearing one in the morning, and Harry had been glancing worriedly over his book at the almost bruised-looking half-circles under his eyes that signified he was past tired, the waxy look his skin was beginning to take, and the increasing greasiness of his hair. The second Severus' eyes closed, Harry was right by his elbow, ready to help him to a pause in his work.

Contrary to popular student belief, the grease came from extensive time hovering over a cauldron, not lack of hygiene. Harry found his own hair taking on a bit of greasiness when he hung around to watch Severus work. A shower was the easy cure, and a cure Harry took pleasure in implementing.

He guided Severus into the bathroom, stripped them both of their clothes, and pulled Severus under the warm water overhead with him. The man groaned, sagging slightly, and Harry washed his back for him, working out some of the taught muscles with his palms and fingers to help him relax further. He lathered up his hands with shampoo, and massaged it into his scalp, washing to the ends of his hair and back again, his lover making small groans of approval all the while.

Harry kissed him gently under the warm stream of water when they were both clean, and nudged him gently out after turning off the water, toweling them both off the old-fashioned way, before using a drying spell for comfort.

They tumbled into bed together, Harry drawing up the sheets around them and dimming the lights. Harry kissed him again on the lips, then the corner of his mouth, jaw, neck, collarbone, and finally chest, before nuzzling into the skin there and curling up close. Severus brought his arm around Harry's back, holding him there.

"... Thank you."

"I don't mind."

"I know."


	11. Reporters

_Author's Note_: I'm in a writing mood, it seems. As a consolation for the wait, take a few more drabbles, on the house.

_Disclaimer_: Just another 300 words chock-full of characters I don't own.

**Reporters**

"Mister Potter, do you care that your new beau is a death eater?"

"Mister Potter, would you consent to love potions testing?"

"Mister Potter, why did you break up with Ginny Weasley in favor of the infamous Severus Snape?"

"Mister Potter, when did you realize you were gay?"

"Mister Potter, do you have marriage plans?"

"Mister Potter, is it true that you've adopted three children with the former Professor Snape?"

Harry stood in front of the reporters, looking out at them from his doorstep. He smiled, and opened his mouth to speak. The reporters immediately hushed, waiting -

"No comment," Harry said, teasingly cheerful. "Now please, go home," he advised, with hints of exasperation to his amused voice.

The reporters exploded again, a flurry of quills and recording devices, flashing cameras and jostling for better looks, their voices one big blur of 'Mister Potter's and prying questions. Harry sighed, and shut his door on them all. Their voices were immediately blocked out by silencing wards.

He came back into the kitchen. Resting on the table was a newspaper with blaring headings such as 'The Chosen One Chooses a Death Eater', 'How Potter's Friends Are Taking It', 'The Ex-Girlfriend', 'Love Potion or Imperius Curse?', and Harry's personal favorite, 'Savior Shags Snape!'

Arms encircled his waist from behind, and Severus buried his aquiline face into Harry's neck. Harry relaxed into his hold. "I told you this would happen."

"I don't care," he murmured, lips brushing the sensitive skin of his neck and making him shiver. "You are still mine; their inane theories and camping out in front of our house can do nothing to change that." He pressed a firm kiss to the side of his neck, and released him.

Harry smiled over his shoulder. "Coffee?" he asked, conversationally.

"Please."


	12. Bare

_Author's Note:_ *does a quirky little dance that ends in jazz hands* Still accepting requests!

_Disclaimer:_ I am not J. K. Rowling, the rightful owner of anything associated with Harry Potter, and make no money off of borrowing her characters for a couple hundred words.

**Bare**

He could hear Harry's bare feet padding on the cold stone floor - and why he didn't wear socks or slippers Severus would _never_ understand, but it heralded his arrival on nights like tonight like nothing else. Except, perhaps, the slide of fabric, which would be the boy dragging the entire comforter along with him (the endearing brat), as he made the trek out to their living room and curled on the couch with him, attaching to Severus's side, a sleepy limpet.

He brought a long-fingered hand up to smooth down Harry's bed hair, an impossible feat (and not at all a thinly veiled reason to touch him), nestled as his head was against his neck. Harry hummed, content. Looking into the weaning flames of the fire, Severus decided that he was content, too.

"Dreams?" the younger asked, hushed, preserving the peace (and even contributing to it with his soft tenor voice and gentle concern).

"Not tonight," he responded. "Just thinking."

Harry hummed again, understanding.

They enjoyed the following minutes, breaths and heartbeats lulling the pair into an almost-sleep, a bone deep tranquility that couldn't be described in words.

"Bed," he finally encouraged, and the padding of bare feet recommenced.


	13. Photograph

_Author's Note: _I swear this was only supposed to be 200 words, but then it turned into 400. Whoops? As always, I accept any prompt you can think up.

_Disclaimer:_ The only thing about this drabble that belongs to me is the particular arrangement of words that follows.

**Photograph**

The photograph was in the house on Spinner's End.

The place was run-down, dilapidated, and looked as though it had been years since it had been properly cared for. Harry had a brief vision of Snape spending unhappy summers here - a building to inhabit, rather than a home to live in. Would he stalk from room to room? Or would he stay seated in the worn chair in the living room, listless and prone? Harry couldn't even begin to imagine the man existing here. It was hard to think of Snape living anywhere but the castle. No place else could accommodate him and the billowing of his robes, the tapping of his soles, his ever-present sour demeanor.

Harry had asked to be alone for a while as he sorted the place out. He'd yet to find anything surprising or revealing about the man, and he wasn't even sure if he had really expected to; the exercise only served to open shoddily-healed wounds and test his tolerance for emotional pain.

Ron and Hermione didn't understand. They were there in the shack, but they hadn't _experienced_ Severus Snape like Harry had in his memories, and he hadn't felt right showing them. To a private man like Snape, even Harry's knowledge was probably too much.

He couldn't even explain what he was looking for, just that he needed _something_.

He found it in the top drawer of an end table, face down, without as much dust as the drawer's other occupants.

A younger Snape was laying on summer grass, not happy but not dour, enduring his picture being taken from a downward angle. Red hair swayed in view of the camera - judging by Snape's apparent age of around fourteen or fifteen, Harry presumed that his mother had been taking the picture. Snape looked up at Lily, just barely away from the center of the camera, and seemed to suppress a smile.

Harry's hand fluttered up towards it, deciding against touching the upward quirk of his lips at the last moment, when dark eyes caught his. After a long moment, the boy in the picture drew a steady breath and closed his eyes, reclining in the grass, quietly pleased with the summer day in which he was preserved.

With an oppressive lump in his throat, Harry decided he was done cleaning out the house for the day.

(The photograph left with him.)


	14. Dreamland

_Author's Note: I'd like to thank my random word generator for giving me the perfect word for the drabble I was thinking of writing, as well as mention that this one is loosely inspired by Steppenwoelfin's fic, Beyond Words, in which Snape says, "I had dreams of you as well, Harry [...] You would simply look at me." It is not meant to be a companion to that story, though it could certainly be read as one if your heart desires._

_Disclaimer: I mean no offense and make no money off of borrowing from two great authors._

**Dreamland**

It was the same dream, over and over again.

He would drift into dreamland, and there the boy would be: standing in front of him, silently staring, neutral eyes connecting with his own without their usual thinly veiled contempt and resentment, nor anything remotely approaching affection. Just staring.

The dreams unnerved him, but he refused to take dreamless sleep. That would mean admitting he had a problem with the dreams, which he most certainly did not.

And so Potter would continue to stand across from him, night after night: watching, never saying a word.

It happened over and over again.


End file.
